


We'll Catch You While We Can

by BabylonsFall



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ezekiel Jones Remembers, Fluff and Angst, I swear this started as straight fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall
Summary: Each of them have different relationships with personal space. Fitting them all together is a little weird, a little rocky. But they figure it out, in the end.





	1. Jacob

**Author's Note:**

> So, as it seems is just going to happen regularly, I was writing something completely different, this happened, and it didn't fit so it's getting it's own post. I'm not sure it makes complete sense, but, I like how it turned out? And I hope you do too!
> 
> (title is from Miracle by Shinedown)

Jacob, it seemed, couldn’t talk without somehow involving the person next to him, with small touches, light shoves, earnest eyes. And since that person more often than not being Ezekiel, it evolved rather quickly into Jacob actively seeking Ezekiel out while he was talking. It was cute, in its own way - Cassandra certainly got a kick out of it; anytime she ended up between the two and Jacob started going off on a rant, she’d step back and watch as Jacob realized he’d once again bombarded Ezekiel, who at this point just took everything in stride.

Ezekiel didn’t mind being Jacob’s go-to. It didn’t mean he knew how to _ react _ to it, but, since Jacob didn’t seem to need his active participation, he just tended to let it go. Jacob never grabbed him without warning (outside of life-and-death scenarios anyway), never shoved hard enough for him to lose his feet - and the one time he’d accidentally yanked too hard, Ezekiel had shut it down, with Jacob stumbling over himself to apologize and keeping a better eye on his own strength, so hey, it all works out.

* * *

They went with him back to Oklahoma, once, after the Hoklonote. Jacob had wanted to go on his own, grumbling about how the other two would be bored, how they didn’t need to worry about it, it was just a wedding for one of his cousins (which. Ezekiel and Cassandra were still about fifty percent convinced there was no blood relation there and that she was one of the many, many family friends that Jacob and his family had just taken to calling cousins. They’d asked, once. The explanation had been too complicated), and there was really no need for them to come. But they’d put their feet down and he’d eventually just thrown his hands in the air and said not to overdo it with the clothes or pick fights with anyone there. (“Any kind of fight. At all. No thieving. No polite and pointed sarcasm. Yes, that’s you Cassie. I don’t care if they’re obnoxious, hands to yourself and mouths shut.”)

So, a week later, they’d all stumbled through the Back Door about a block from the house the couple had apparently picked the backyard to get married in (another… cousin’s?), Ezekiel and Cassandra braced to face down a family closer to Isaac’s temperament (not that they said as much, but they’re pretty sure Jacob knew why they insisted on coming) and Jacob just wanting to get there and get back. They didn’t say anything when, when the house came into view, they could  _ see  _ the moment he changed how he carried himself. Their friend (and maybe more. Still needed to talk about that) was loose in his walk, hands always moving, energy thrumming under his skin. Here though, he looked tightly coiled, thumbs hooked in his pockets to keep them still, a curve to his shoulders pulling him smaller. (Ezekiel and Cassandra had shared a rather expressive sour look behind him. The switch unsettled both of them, now that they knew that  _ that _ was what he’d done at the dig, why he’d seemed so off from the second they’d seen the company logo. They didn’t like it, but they didn’t know what to do about it either, so they kept their mouths shut.)

It had taken a grand total of two seconds after they slipped through the gate into the backyard for Jacob to just be. Swarmed. By a veritable army of little kids, with a less concerning number of adults grinning brightly and making their way over as well, reaching out to clap him on the shoulders and pull him into hugs when the kids moved out of the way enough to allow it.

Cassandra and Ezekiel learned there were a truly impressive number of ways for little kids to say “Uncle Jake” and that he’d left out the part, when describing his family, that he was one of the favorites in the too-long roster of Uncles. Apparently there was a whole babysitting rota for big family events like this, and, up until he’d left for the Library, Jacob had been right at the top of it. Given how relaxed he was with the kids, immediately dropping down to their height if they had something say, or laughing along with whatever gibberish the younger ones babbled at him, or scooping them up at the slightest raising of hands, it was clear they’d missed him as much as he’d apparently missed them.

And that pretty much set the bar for the rest of the wedding - which was lovely and homey, even if the two of them didn’t know anyone around. Jacob always either had a kid on his hip - except the one terrifying moment he’d passed a toddler over to Ezekiel so he could grab something else (Cassandra had seen that coming a mile away and ‘nope’d away so quick. Eve would’ve been proud) - or hanging off his arm. If there wasn’t a kid, it was a friend, shoving his shoulder, physically pulling him into a conversation, arms thrown over his shoulders easily. And, for all that they were strangers, Cassandra and Ezekiel found themselves dragged into it too, with a little more restraint; they got their share of backslaps (and a greater appreciation of how much Jacob toned those down because  _ ow _ ), taps to get their attention and the like. Even a few hugs on their way out at the end of the night.

For all that they were relieved when Jacob switched back to his looser, more relaxed, more  _ normal  _ self once they were out of sight of the house, it was clear something had changed for the better - some weight off his shoulders that they hadn’t even noticed was there in the first place (which, that didn’t sit well with either of them, if the look they shared said anything).

(Both of them noticed the slightly wistful, longing look on his face when they got back to the Library and looked around the big open space, even if they didn’t quite know what to do about it. They settled for bumping shoulders, playfully shoving him as they talked, and two quick, daring hugs for all of a breath before they split up.)

So, yeah. That explained a  _ lot _ . And if, afterwards, they maybe tried to be in his space a little more, never all too far out of reach, well, he never mentioned it.

(His dopey smile and how his shoulders never seemed to carry that weight again, not completely, said a lot though.)


	2. Ezekiel

Ezekiel himself didn’t have much of a tactile nature - he didn’t seek out touch regularly, but he also didn’t shy away from it. But he liked being around people - liked the energy that came from groups of people moving around each other - or even just the energy of him and another person existing in the same space - even if he wasn’t actively a part of the conversation or activity. No one seemed to mind when he’d hang out while they were doing research in the Annex, or when he’d drop down into a chair in the middle of a conversation the others were having, with absolutely no interest in joining in.

Jacob had rolled his eyes when Ezekiel had claimed the corner of his desk in the Annex as his lounge spot. But he hadn’t asked him to move either. And if that just became ‘his spot’ in the Annex, no one seemed to have a mind to point it out. Even when he stayed late with Jacob while the man worked on yet another paper, completely oblivious to the late hour - soft keyclicks and the occasional gruff curse the only noise in the quiet Library. (And, if he absolutely needed to talk, Jacob didn’t seem to mind the distraction, for all his grumping). Cassandra hadn’t said a word when Ezekiel had appeared at her side, back in the stacks, scooping up a couple of her books and just following her around as she found more to look at. Eventually, they’d started talking, because neither were quiet sorts - not really - but those first fifteen minutes had been quiet and soft, the only sounds being their breathing and Cassandra muttering to herself, and exactly what Ezekiel needed.

* * *

After the Game. After he started over, and over, and over, and _over_ . After he’d dealt with moments of silence so choking and heavy and echoing with shouts that got erased into _nothing_ , like that pain had never existed, had never lashed his nerves and torn up his his insides, like he wasn’t feeling himself fraying each and every breath between the last echo of screams and the flat sound of feet hitting the floor as they stumbled out the Back Door.

After all of that. (And after he’d… let them believe. He didn’t _lie_ dammit.) He didn’t like silence so much. He _tried_. Tried to stick to something normal. He sat with Jacob, late into the night, listening to too-soft keyclicks and half-breathed curses. Helped Cassandra with her research, wandering the stacks with her in the perpetual stillness of the Library.

It just about drove him up the wall. So, he talked. About anything. Everything. Observations about Cassandra’s books, where he’d stolen artifacts that might be related, security systems those reminded him of, on and on and before he knew it, he was talking about how much he didn’t like baseball. Cassandra had given him an odd look, but, bless her, hadn’t said a word about it, just following along as best she could with the conversation. As soon as he’d realized that the talking wasn’t going to stop though, that he honestly couldn’t deal with the quiet coming back there with them, and she started getting that pinched look to her eyes that told him her attention was being split between too many things and she’d need to concentrate soon to avoid a headache, he’d left, apologizing and muttering some excuse neither of them bought for a second.

He’d tried again with Jacob. He had no idea what the man was working on - the books were different than last time though, so probably a new paper - but, like usual, he didn’t seem to mind Ezekiel dropping down on the clear corner of his desk. He lasted about five minutes before he needed to start talking. It wasn’t the easy comments he normally made when hanging out with Jacob - light jabs at the covers of books he was reading, stupid questions just to get a rise out of him (and maybe an exasperated huff and fond smile when the man figured out he was messing with him), small reminders of things he’d grumbled about earlier and then forgotten. No, these were sharp, pointed snipes about why anyone cared about Dutch colonial architecture. About how bored he was. How they could be doing literally anything else. Jacob had put up with it for about an hour - which, looking back, was pretty impressive all things considered - before he’d pushed away from the desk slightly to get a better look at him. “If you’re so bored, Jones, nothing’s keeping you here.” He was frustrated, trying not to snap, and failing - points for trying though, Ezekiel appreciated it. Ezekiel had paused, looking anywhere but him (phones were super-handy for avoiding eye-contact, it was great), muttered something about that being a good point, and booked it from the Annex.

He hadn’t set out to avoid them, after those episodes. He really didn’t. (Maybe he liked being alone about as much as he liked the quiet nowadays. So what.) But, after a week, it was obvious he wasn’t seeking them out, and they were noticing. (Of course they were noticing. They were _them_ . Cassandra noticed _everything_ , and, after their conversation that had brought them all into a far closer orbit to each other, into the tentative start of something warm and exciting and just a tiny bit terrifying, she’d been watching even closer. Jacob noticed what he liked, and was oblivious to what he didn’t. Just Ezekiel’s luck, Jacob seemed to like him. Which, _score_. But still.

They cornered him. He wasn’t sure _how_ , since normally he could see them coming a mile away. (Actually, he did. It involved Jenkins asking him to go get him something since he couldn’t leave the lab just then, and Cassandra and Jacob waiting for him. Simple. Annoyingly so. And _dammit_ Jenkins.)

They didn’t ask him what was wrong - everything too new and sharp and fragile between them to be pushing too hard at scars - they just asked _if_ something was. If they could help. If he’d _let_ them help. And goddamn if that didn’t just cut all his strings, send him reeling and ground him all at once.

He wasn’t too proud to say he cried (later, in his own bed. In front of them, he _might’ve_ sniffled a bit. Maybe), before giving them the simplest answer he could.

“I can’t…” Not quite. “I need… noise. Just. Just for awhile.” They’d eyed him for a long couple moments before nodding decisively and pulling him into an awkward, crushing, wonderful hug, both of them stealing lightning quick brushes of kisses that had him relaxing more than he had in _weeks_ , even as he felt his face go red because “Enough with the sap!”

Cassandra chattered from the moment he joined her on her research trips to the moment they left the stacks (left that too-calm, too-choking quiet) - and don’t think he didn’t notice that she came prepared with lists so most of her attention could be given to what they were talking about. He had ‘his spot’ on Jacob’s desk again, though now he shared it with a set of small speakers. Jacob never complained about the music he chose, only reaching over to flick it off when he wanted to run something by Ezekiel - which, again, he noticed that Jacob started doing that more and more, excusing it away as Ezekiel being well traveled enough and familiar enough with museum collections that it just made sense to ask him some things.

(It didn’t fix everything. Not immediately. But, he could _enjoy_ the feeling of simply existing with another person again, with a little extra white noise and with two more voices wrapped around him to keep the quiet out, and that was a gift he wasn’t about to give up anytime soon.)


	3. Cassandra

Cassandra had an… odd relationship with personal space, if she was being honest. She wasn’t a tactile person - not usually. Day to day, she kept herself to herself, hands fluttering here and there while she moved from equation to conversation, back to observation, over to the next exciting thing. But, she also loved hugs, loved clinging to someone for that short moment (...or several long moments, as they discovered when she got tipsy, whoops). She loved that warm and fuzzy and close feeling she got from that contact, even for a moment.

She liked to think she’d always been this way - had always jumped into contact, opened her arms for hugs and leaned into others because it was just  _ nice _ \- and maybe, at some level that was true. She couldn’t remember being particularly clingy as a kid (anymore than any other kid, anyway), and she didn’t think she’d been standoffish either.

But she also knew herself well enough to know that, these days, she clung a little harder, jumped into hugs a little faster, leaned perhaps a little too heavily into touches - suddenly craving them even though she already had them. She’d had enough of a taste of people pulling away from her, of touches so soft as to be nonexistent (lest she crack and fall apart), of shying away from lingering contact, to last her a lifetime. She never wanted anyone to look at her like she was going to break if they held her too close, too tight, again.

Luckily for her, outside of a few speed bumps in the beginning, everyone seemed to be just fine with her brand of mercurial affection. Jacob didn’t seem to mind her launching herself at him for lightning quick hugs, big arms immediately wrapping tight around her, and Ezekiel didn’t seem to mind her using his shoulder as her go-to resting spot, arm looped around her waist to keep them close, and she couldn’t help smiling each and every time.

* * *

She prayed like hell that things wouldn’t change, after the hospital, after the surgery. It hadn’t broken her the first time, watching everyone withdraw from her, treat her like glass. This time? This time, it just might.

(It won’t. She’ll keep walking, keep going. Dying didn’t stop her, living certainly won’t. She knows that, in some small part of her brain. But it still terrifies her, and that fear makes everything seem so much bigger, so much  _ more _ .)

She doesn’t tell them, is the thing. Doesn’t want that idea to get into their heads - they both move too fast, get caught up so easily in the smallest details, that she’s so  _ scared _ that if she tells them  _ not  _ to change, they will just in trying not to. It’s not fair to them to put that expectation on them, she justifies as she pulls herself closer.

So, she doesn’t tell them. Instead, she watches. She notices every little touch, catalogues and tucks it away, where no one can take them from her.

Movie nights at Jacob’s, she squishes herself between them, pulling them closer than normal - and abruptly making space for herself when she realizes just how tight she’s clinging. Date nights out, she puts herself on the inside of the booth seats, pulls whoever sits next to her into her space as subtly as she can (which isn’t very), only to realize they need actual space to eat and pushing herself up against the wall. Trips out, she hesitates for all of a second before grabbing hands, threading their fingers together and doing her best not to cling too hard, frustrated and relieved when she has to drop them just as quick to manage the tangles in her head.

(She sees them sharing looks, confused and catching on that  _ something  _ is up, but neither having a clear idea  _ what _ . She’s pretty sure they think she doesn’t notice, and it makes her stomach clench.)

Jacob hugs her just as tight, pulling her close and twirling her around just to get her to laugh, putting her back down with a kiss to her a temple that leaves her feeling fluttery. Ezekiel initiates hugs of his own, pulling her in for long, wonderful, warm moments where it’s just the two of them, sometimes sharing honey-sweet kisses that they end up having to break because they’re both smiling too much.

And she knows she’s winding herself up, waiting for something to crack, for them to either get up the guts to ask her or for her to mess up and end up spilling it anyway, but she can’t seem to stop.

She doesn’t want to lose this. She  _ can’t _ .

Something pushes them over. She’s not quite sure  _ what _ , and by the time she thinks to ask, it doesn’t much matter. But, one moment, she’s laughing as Jacob sweeps her up again in a twirl, and the next, it’s just her, Jacob, and Ezekiel in the Annex - when she’d been sure Eve had been at her desk not two seconds ago - and they’re looking at her with soft (too soft, too _ sad _ ) eyes and concerned frowns, and her heart plummets as she considers how quick she could fire up the Back Door behind her and get out of there.

Not quick enough apparently, as both seem to see exactly where her mind goes and reach out to catch her hands, with grips so light they ache. She can’t help it. She tenses, but they don’t let go, and she doesn’t know if that makes it so much better or so much worse.

She’s sure they had a full speech planned - they definitely look ready to dive right in, set that they need to talk about this  _ now _ \- and something in her cracks, just a little bit.

“Don’t change. Just. Don’t change, please.” her voice isn’t as strong as she’d like, isn’t as firm as she knows it can be. But, that’s apparently all it takes for everything else to come out with it - how she’s waiting for them to stop treating her like she’s bright and strong and  _ alive _ and how she can’t lose that, can’t lose her two closest people, can’t lose that touch, not again.

They kind of just blink at her, and then each other for a moment. And then, in the next moment, she’s being swept up between them in a hug so close, so tight, she’s not sure where one ends and the other begins, and maybe she squeaks, and maybe there are a few tears when it catches up with her that they’re clinging to her just as tight as she’s been clinging to them these last couple of weeks.

Later, later she’ll hear the praise whispered fiercely into her hair, into her skin, about how they’d never treat her like cracked glass (gently, they’ll treat her gently, always, but because they love her, not because she’ll break), about how she’s strong and bright and they don’t plan on letting go, but for now, she just feels, lets herself melt against the two of them, lets Jacob’s arms anchor her, the rough timbre of his voice bring her high, and lets Ezekiel’s heartbeat be her focus, the soft conviction in his whispers all she’s ever wanted to hear.

She thinks maybe, maybe just this time, everything will be okay.

(And then she needs to ask them to let up just a little bit, so she can breathe - and their laughter, filling up the space around them, is the best thing she’s ever heard.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always amazing and appreciated! Come say hi on[ tumblr](https://distinctivelibrarians.tumblr.com) if you'd like!


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